All For Spilled Blood: Tour Director Extraordinaire Series, #4

By R. Ann Siracusa

Harriet Ruby, tour director extraordinaire, and her fiancé and favorite spy, Will Talbot, travel to Russia undercover as tour directors for the US delegation to an international youth conference. Harriet tackles her first covert assignment to investigate smuggled artwork while Will's mission is to locate and destroy a group of terrorists recruiting young computer experts.

Their marriage plans hit a snag when Will locates a long-lost cousin with startling news about his heritage. When the artwork being smuggled has particular significance to one of the terrorist sympathizers, their missions entangle and begin to unravel, leaving Will at the mercy of terrorist kidnappers and Harriet holding the bag.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Ann Siracusa
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386800484

Book preview

Chapter One

Will and I waited without speaking.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs a dozen times and kept pulling nervously at the hem of my skirt, still unsure whether I wanted to be a spy or not.

I could get killed doing that.

While I stared out the large window overlooking the pink carpet of cherry blossoms arching over the streets of Washington, DC, the woman we waited for breezed into the office and took her place behind the desk in front of us.

Good morning, Ms. Ruby. Eleanor Morrison nodded formally, speaking as if the Department of Homeland Security required the use of surnames, then added, Harriet. She turned her smile to my fiancé. Agent Talbot... Will.

The formalities dispensed with, Eleanor settled into her leather chair, rested her elbows on the surface of the teakwood desk, and leaned forward. Her intense grey eyes studied me and then flicked to Will.

Thank you for coming. She spoke as though we happened to be in the neighborhood and dropped in for a visit on the spur of the moment.

I returned her smile with a broad grin. Our pleasure.

Will and I liked Eleanor. Otherwise, I wouldn't have traveled all the way from Rome, and Will from Spain, to be there.

Of course, Eleanor Morrison was not her real name, only the cover name we knew and used. One of the rules of spydom.

I wasn't sure if you were still interested in doing work for me. She peaked and unpeaked her fingers. I thought you two would be married by now and have other things on your minds.

Will and I exchanged a glance that, of course, Eleanor didn't miss. Being the definitive perfectionist, her nature didn't permit her to overlook even the slightest innuendo or gesture. Her attention to detail defied reproach, particularly when it came to her official responsibilities.

Fortunately for the US Government; she worked for our side.

We're still engaged, Will replied, his tone curious. Does it make any difference whether we're married or not?

She pursed her lips. Married might be better for this mission, but we can make it work... Her sentence ended in a shrug. She picked up a sheaf of papers and tapped them on the surface of the desk until the edges aligned perfectly, then set them in front of her.

I shifted in my seat and clasped my hands together in my lap to keep from waving them around or picking at the arm of the chair. At best, patience and I maintained an uneasy alliance, although I'd learned a lot during the past two and a half years with Will... some of it too personal to even think about without getting hot.

He and I shared such a profound emotional connection, almost at the molecular level, that at times it seemed we read each other's minds. But sitting there in Eleanor's office, as I searched his face and body language for a reaction to her offer, I read nothing. He was playing it close to the vest and screening me out.

My decision. For better or worse, he would not intervene.

Where would we be going? I asked curiously.

Eleanor glanced at her documents, avoiding eye contact. She wasn't giving away anything, either. A very intelligent and fascinating woman. Precisely the reason I entertained the notion of spying for her.

Not that my job as a tour director for Adventure Seekers Travel Agency didn't demand a lot from me already. Still, Will's career as a Europol special agent and contract operative for the US government—a spy, actually—impressed me as more challenging and socially redeeming. In addition, being a tour director provided a perfect cover for a government agent.

Russia. Eleanor tapped her pencil on her desk. Five weeks from now.

Even though the gold-lettered nameplate on her door identified the somewhat plain fifty-year-old as high-level staff to the Chairman of the Homeland Security Advisory Council, her true role in the department remained top secret. I doubted if the personnel division had ever heard of her real position, much less her real name.

If Will had any idea, he'd never let me in on it. The need-to-know rule of spydom in action. A rule I still hadn't learned to accept with any grace.

Maybe my need-to-know motivated me to become involved in something a master's degree in linguistics from MIT had ill-prepared me for.

Okay. Russia's good. I nodded with approval, although I'd noted an almost-imperceptible shift in Will's attitude when she mentioned the location. He never permitted himself to show any outward physical response, so I sensed his reaction rather than observed it. It puzzled me.

What bothered him about Russia? His father was Russian-American, and as a small child Will had lived in St. Petersburg. He spoke fluent Russian, along with sixteen other languages. I assumed he would welcome the idea.

Eleanor's eyes darkened a shade. She, also, sensed his hesitance. Nothing slipped past her.

I ignored my uneasiness and continued. I've taken a couple of tour groups to Russia, so I'm somewhat familiar with Moscow and St. Petersburg. I presume that's why you called me.

Correct, Harriet, but I called both of you. Her gaze shifted. Will, are you in a position to take a short leave from Europol?

Yes. He held his emotions in check, not allowing them to surface. Not even the nervous pulse that sometimes throbbed in his neck. I wrapped up my latest case a few days ago. I need a week to follow up, then I'm due some leave time.

Yes, so I heard. Again, Eleanor smiled. For someone with the onerous responsibility of handling the most serious terrorist threats to national security, she was flashing a lot of white teeth at us, as though trying to get on our good side. I also understand since you regained your memory, you've backed off from some of those high-risk assignments you used to insist on.

I stifled an un-spy-like gasp. Six months ago, on our trip to China, Will had recovered a missing part of his memory and began to remember things that had happened to him as a child. Terrible things.

Subsequently, with my help and some serious therapy, the guilt had eased. Now, instead of driving himself to risk his life because he believed he owed some great debt to society, a deep-seated desire to bring justice to the world drove Will to do the same thing. Go figure.

Regardless, his recovery, while progressing, had proved a sensitive process fraught with nightmares, setbacks, and emotional pitfalls. Not an experience either of us wanted to share with others.

Without any expression on his face, Will replied in a flat tone, That's privileged and personal information, Eleanor. I'm sure you realize Europol is unaware of the problem... not even Robards. He paused and waited for a response. When she didn't offer any, he shrugged. I won't bother to ask your sources, and I trust your integrity, so I have to assume you're after something in particular. What do you want me to tell you?

You've already told me what I needed to know, Agent Talbot.

So, what's the mission? I blurted out.

Both Will and Eleanor frowned at me—for different reasons, I presumed.

Twofold, which is the reason I wanted both of you here today. Both missions involve the WYIO. The Secretary and the Security Advisory Council have agreed, for obscure political reasons, to be sponsors of that organization's Global Connection Project.

What is the WYIO? I've never heard of it, but what do I know?

The World Youth Involvement Organization. The Global Connection Project has chapters worldwide, but Homeland's focus is their annual international conference. The event takes place in St. Petersburg five weeks from now. Young leaders from around the world meet to discuss and take positions on issues like global warming, children's rights, education, technology, self-expression through the arts, and so on. Our government is sponsoring a delegation of thirty young people, ten parents, and ten chapter leaders.

I chewed at my lower lip. Okay. I think I'm getting the picture here. While the group would be almost twice the size of my usual tours, with Will's help—and parents as chaperones—it would be manageable. You want Will and me to function as tour directors for this delegation, right?

In response, Eleanor dipped her head. Ostensibly, yes. If you accept these missions, tour director would be your cover... but guiding the group would only be a small part of your duties. The trip is already planned, the prep work done, and most of the arrangements made. All we need to do is contact Adventure Seekers Travel and ask if they want the contract for one of the tour director positions.

Stu Philips will snap it up in an instant. I knew my boss.

Will raised one eyebrow. What precisely are the missions? Always a cut-to-the-chase kind of guy.

Eleanor glanced down at the papers on the desk and compressed her lips. Over the past four years, a number of valuable artworks and archeological artifacts have been smuggled into the States from all over the world. Some of these stolen pieces have surfaced in private collections, which has created considerable political pressure in certain international circles. Investigators from Customs and other agencies you don't need to know about have pinpointed several annual international events which are, shall we say, suspect. The Global Connection Project is one of them.

Art. One of my fields of expertise. And my task would be to find out if any of the delegates are bringing stolen artwork into the US, I chimed in like I knew what I was talking about.

Eleanor smiled indulgently and tilted her head a little. Somehow she managed to do that without being patronizing.

Your mission, yes; but also you'll be expected to discover who is responsible and how they're smuggling the artifacts. It's unlikely, but not impossible, the delegates know they're carrying stolen goods. If feasible, you need to find out how the pieces are taken out of their countries of origin and brought into the host country. As the tour director, and with your art background, you'll be in a perfect position to collect that data.

Inside, I relaxed. My stomach unclenched, and the tenseness in my muscles melted and flowed away like water. That didn't sound too risky. Although, I'd learned the hard way when money, greed, and criminals were involved, anything could be dangerous. As convincing as my tour director cover might be, no cover was ever perfect.

If this is happening, and some of the delegates are transporting stolen goods, am I supposed to do something to stop them?

She shook her head. Absolutely not. Your task is intelligence. You find out if, who, and how, and report that information. We'll handle the rest.

I threw my shoulders back, full of confidence and devoid of good sense. I can do that. What about Will?

Both his eyebrows shot up this time, but he didn't say anything.

Will's mission is more dangerous. Unsmiling, Eleanor looked him straight in the eye.

He returned her gaze, stare for stare. Goes with the territory.

Danger didn't bother Will—he seemed to thrive on it—but the hazards of the spy business worried me.

Eleanor allowed a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth, clearly pleased with his comment. No doubt you're aware the terrorist factions have created some sophisticated recruiting and marketing campaigns on the Internet. Al-Qaeda in particular, but not exclusively. Several joint task forces on terrorism are looking into this, including the Senate's Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee. That's how we are involved.

My heart seized, and I clamped my hands on the arms of the chair. White-knuckle time. This part did not sound healthy. Will nodded, his expression serious but serene.

We have reason to believe international youth groups, including WYIO, have been targeted as recruitment opportunities for these terrorist organizations, Eleanor went on. The young people in WYIO are already interested and involved in world affairs. For the most part, they want change and are computer literate on a highly sophisticated level. Your mission would be to locate and destroy the recruitment effort.

Locate and destroy? Oh, man.

Perspiration beaded on my forehead and between my shoulder blades. Not a reconnaissance mission, but serious action. Assault weapons and blood. Torture and death. The works. I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

With prejudice? Will hadn't moved a muscle or altered his expression.

Eleanor nodded. Yes, but not without help, should the exigency arise.

I held my breath, waiting to hear who else would be involved. Waiting for Will to ask questions. Maybe even waiting for him to say no.

Instead, Eleanor stood up and extended her hand. Thank you for coming. You have until ten this evening to let me know your decision. I realize that's not much time, but these assignments can't wait. If you accept, your training and briefings will be scheduled in two weeks.

We shook hands, said goodbye, and were hustled out the door.

*****

Neither of us spoke until we were outside on the busy sidewalk. Without Will telling me, I assumed the building housing the US Department of Homeland Security would not be bugged by outsiders, but the agency itself might have listening devices crawling all over the place.

Never trust anyone, including other law enforcement agencies, and particularly the people you work with. I repeated Will's words aloud when we'd immersed ourselves in the lunchtime crowd. How many times had he told me that?

You're learning. He put his arm around my shoulders. Let's walk.

Eleanor didn't seem worried about bugs, I commented as we strolled along the sidewalk.

In her own office? He paused mid-stride to stare at me, incredulous, before continuing. Do you think she wouldn't know what's in there?

A little chagrined by my naïve comment, I grimaced and shrugged, hurrying to keep up. So what do you think?

About the missions? It's your call. I'm just along for the ride.

I skidded to a halt and planted my fists on my hips. You're along to keep me from mucking things up and ruining your reputation as an agent.

He stopped and smiled at me with such tenderness my knees weakened and my legs began to melt into the pavement like sticks of butter on hot tar. I loved this man so much.

He shook his head and leveled his Jesus, Harriet look at me. If being around you was going to ruin my reputation as a professional, I'd have been out of the business the first time we met. Come on. There's a good place to eat a couple of blocks from here.

Being springtime, the broad sidewalks buzzed with large groups of middle school students and their chaperones gawking at the sights. While we maneuvered our way through the crowd, I thought about the missions. Did Eleanor want me, or was Will the person she needed?

Will's official business card identified him as a liaison officer in the Operations Department of Europol, the European Union's agency that assisted member countries with law enforcement, but he also worked on contract with various US agencies as a covert operative. Whatever his title and real role, it rated high enough for our government to set up and maintain his cover as an auditor for the Government Accountancy Office. His boss at Europol, Franz Robards, gave Will time off whenever he needed it.

He never told me which alphabet-soup agencies he accepted contracts with. Such information fell into the didn't-need-to-know category, creating a major trust issue in our relationship. Regardless, I did know his contract work was top secret, intense, and dangerous.

I didn't like that part a whole lot.

Before Will opened the restaurant door, I stopped him. Do you think this offer has anything to do with Eleanor's original proposal that I do work for her agency? Or does it have to do with you?

Our gazes locked. His hand dropped from the door handle, and he pulled me out of the flow of pedestrians. You're asking if I think she wants my services, not yours?

I nodded.

Don't know. Only keep in mind she traveled to China undercover as one of your tourists to check you out before she recruited you. That's a serious commitment of time for a person in her position.

I compressed my lips. If I accepted, this would be my first assignment. I didn't consider myself a seasoned professional ready to square off with Al-Qaeda. Jeez, I hated it when he was right.

Right. It's just that smuggled artwork doesn't sound all particularly important in the scheme of things.

Will chuckled. Have you forgotten what happened in Morocco?

Grimacing, I shook my head and recalled that on my first stint as a tour director in Europe, one of my tourists ended up murdered over stolen artwork. That's how I met Will. I'll never forget that.

Now, here's the thing. As a tour guide in Boston, which is how I earned pizza money when I attended MIT, nothing bad ever happened to me. No murders, no kidnappings, no blood, no hostages. In fact, nothing bad ever happened to me growing up, and I didn't have any real problems... until I met Will. From that moment on, my karma went into the toilet, and life became complicated and hazardous.

Never dull, mind you. Just confusing, perilous, and difficult to complain about since I wasn't allowed to tell anyone about anything.

During lunch, I let Will direct the conversation and, for the most part, we discussed things to see and do while we were in Washington CD. I'd spent quite a bit of time as an art history student and tourist in our nation's capital when I lived in Boston. Will came to the DC area often in his official need-to-know operative capacity, and when he was training or teaching at Fort Bragg, but we had never been there together.

First we went to Arlington. Although I'd visited the national cemetery on numerous occasions, I hadn't seen everything, so I didn't mind. Curiosity about Will's reason for going there niggled at me, but I knew better than to ask.

As we walked hand-in-hand along Eisenhower Drive beneath the blossoming trees, Will seemed to sense my curiosity and squeezed my fingers.

I always come here when I'm in DC, he offered.

His lame comment, in my book, didn't explain much and left me unenlightened. Where are we going?

He hadn't set a fast pace, yet we weren't meandering, either. He walked like a man with a purpose.

Section sixty. Beyond York Drive. Will pulled a small rectangle of paper out of his pocket and opened it. The old map had been unfolded and refolded many times, but he didn't even look at it. We're almost there.

I followed him in silence until we stood before a grave with a marker dated March 1991. Sergeant First Class David R. Shaw. Was he a friend of yours?

No. We spent a few hours together on patrol during the Gulf War. Long enough for him to tell me about his wife and their new baby he'd never seen. He was a month or so away from going home. He paused and drew in a deep breath. We witnessed a suicide bombing. He rescued a woman and her small child... and gave his own life doing it.

A wave of sadness enveloped me. There were no words for this, and I didn't have the courage to look at him.

He sighed ruefully, and continued. Later, I pulled some strings to get his wife's address and went to see her. She appreciated knowing his last thoughts were for her and the baby. She told me they'd buried him here and, since then, I've come whenever possible.

Looking at my feet, I tried to wipe my damp eyes with my sleeve and wondered if I would ever understand Will Talbot. After a minute or so he took my hand, and we walked to the entrance and our rented car.

*****

Later in the afternoon, back at the hotel, as I scrubbed Will's back in the shower, my physical high and mental euphoria from our third round of love-making began to ebb. My mind wandered until the muscles in his shoulders quivered under my hands. With a moan, he spun around and pulled me into the hard length of his body. His muscled arms banded around me, and his hands on my buttocks lifted me into his hardness.

Wet skin to wet skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Wow. Instantaneous attitude adjustment. I was with the program again.

He freed one hand and cupped my chin, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone, then lowered his mouth to mine. I parted my lips. Desire rippled through my body as I pressed into his chest.

If he had more to give, I wanted it. Yum. Again?

Will eased me away and held me at arm's length. He smiled and yearning glinted in his eyes, but he shook his head. Hmm. Later.

Puzzled, I blinked, then frowned. My vision blurred, as though I'd abruptly awoken from a vivid dream. Then why—

He planted a light, playful kiss on my mouth, presumably to silence me. Because the blood is just now returning to my brain. He paused and frowned with concern. What's the matter, Tiger?

What do you mean? I loved his pet name for me. I loved everything about Will... well, except when he seemed to read my mind. Reaching around him, I turned off the water and faked a slightly irritated tone. What makes you think something's wrong?

Don't give me crap. I know you too well. If I'd let you, you'd have simply scrubbed until you'd scraped all the skin off my back.

Busted. Well, I was wondering...

Sighing, Will opened the shower door and pulled two large towels off the towel rack.

You think too much. He draped one terry bath sheet over his shoulder and wrapped the other around me. Let's cover you up before you tempt me again.

My glance followed his southward.

Hmm. He took the towel from his shoulder, wrapped it around his hips and swept me into his arms.

Be careful, I warned. Don't slip and fall.

Chuckling, he pushed the shower door open and carried me into the bedroom. You didn't worry about that when—

I was, ah, too distracted, I interrupted.

He tossed me into the center of the bed, plopped down beside me, and tangled his legs with mine as he drew me into his embrace. I'm not letting you go until you tell me what's up.

Mmm. He smelled delicious, the perfect combination of aftershave and pine-scented soap. Given that choice, you'll never find out.

Is that so? He pulled back and tickled me beneath my arms.

Squirming and giggling, I tried to pull away. That's... Giggle. Not fair.

C'mon. Give.

I gave at the office.

He face clouded and his light blue eyes grew dark. A signal of true concern. I knew the look.

All right, but get off me, you big lug.

Will rolled to his side and sat on the edge of the mattress. I levered myself up beside him. He took my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

Blowing out a long breath, I gathered my courage and bit the bullet. Something had been bothering me. What should we do about these missions Eleanor offered us? We've only got a few more hours before we have to give her an answer, and we haven't even talked about it.

He rose, went to the dresser, and picked up his undershorts and athletic shirt. The towel dropped, and he donned the underwear without looking at me.

It's up to you. After all, I did try to recruit you as an agent when we first met. He took his trousers from the back of the chair, stood on one leg, and slipped the other through the leg opening.

Holding my breath, I admired his lithe movements, staring at the muscles on his calf and drawing my gaze upward as the fabric glided over his firm thighs and slim hips.

The man had buns to die for. He also had slacks with razor-sharp creases in them. Regardless of whether he wore a tux at a diplomatic reception or scrambled through mud up to his knees in a shootout with terrorists, those folds never went away. After more than two years with him, I still failed to understand how he did that. It drove me nuts.

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. You said you didn't have anything to do with Eleanor recruiting me to be a spy.

I didn't recommend you, and I still don't know who did. He zipped up and shook the slacks into place. He looked delicious enough to eat. I shut my eyes and tried to concentrate. I suspect it was Franz, but I don't know that for a fact.

Right. Will's superior had acted impressed when I saved the Pope from an attempted assassination, even though I'd poked my nose into Europol business... uninvited.

Whenever my assignments overlapped with Will's, and I didn't need to know, I never failed to mess up his operation no matter how hard I tried not to. Amazing, considering we were so connected that most of time one sensed what the other was thinking. Still, I always managed to interfere. Call it a gift. Will probably considered it a curse, although he never said so—well, maybe a comment every now and then, when the caca hit the fan—but he loved me in spite of it.

In the case involving the Pope, my intuition paid off... thank goodness. If it hadn't, I would be conducting tours to the international space station, and Will would be fighting crime amidst the Emperor Penguins at the South Pole.

At this point, it doesn't matter why she singled me out. She's put an offer on the table, and we have to give her an answer. What do you think we should do?

He shot me a Jesus, Harriet look and reached for his shirt. Your call, babe. I told you I wouldn't interfere with your decision.

Taking my cue, I rose and scrounged through my suitcase for the black lace bra and panties that went with my slinky black dress. You're not interfering if I ask your opinion.

Will stroked his chin and cocked his head, considering me with one eyebrow raised as I dressed. Well, now, Tiger. Prior experience leads me to believe your noninterference caveat applies only if I agree with you.

I clamped my teeth together, both surprised and suspicious... and, well, maybe a little annoyed by his attitude.

Did that mean he didn't agree with me? I scrunched my brow. How was that possible when I hadn't made up my mind? I did my hands-on-the-hips thing.

Give me a break, Will. This is important, and it affects both of us. I need to know how you feel about it.

This is how I feel about it. He pulled me into his arms, clamped his delectable lips on mine, and gave me a powerful, probing kiss. Hot awareness speared through me, turning my knees to soggy cornflakes. Desire coiled inside my stomach and spread outward in a fan of heat to my toes, fingertips, and the roots of my hair, subjecting us to the risk of spontaneous human combustion.

The kiss lasted until I had to pull away, gasping. Air. I need some oxygen here.

He loosened his hold, and we both drew in deep breaths.

Then he pressed me to his chest and nuzzled my hair. I don't want to lose you, Tiger.

Over my dead body you'll... I burst out. Oh, boy. Let me rephrase that.

Placing a finger over my lips, he kissed my eyelids. Wow. That was so sexy.

Bad choice of words, he whispered. I'd prefer you in one piece when we get married.

My lower lip trembled, and I bit into it. I loved Will so much I'd march into hell for him without a second thought, and I wanted to marry him, no matter what. I'd even taken a bullet meant for him. No, really, I jumped in front of him and was shot. Nonetheless, I'd insisted on a long engagement. He needed time to recover his complete memory, come to terms with his past, and put it to rest. We both needed that.

In the meantime, my mother, who had been planning a huge Italian wedding for me since my fifth birthday, was on a roll and getting antsy. Plus, I still hadn't broached the sex-before-marriage issue with either her or God. I felt confident God would understand. I wasn't so sure about my mother.

At the moment, there was no touchier subject for us than marriage.

I nodded. My preference too. That's why I'm concerned about how dangerous this might be. I mean, it doesn't sound difficult, but I need your take on it.

A long sigh escaped from between his teeth.

Jesus, Harriet. Muttering and shaking his head, he eased himself into one of the overstuffed chairs, stretched out legs that seemed a mile long, and propped his stocking feet on the coffee table. Okay, let's walk through this while you finish dressing. Start by telling me what you know about the case.

I adjusted my dress, then sat down at the dressing table and picked up my hairbrush. "I don't know anything about the case yet."

He rolled his eyes. Actually, you know quite a bit. He reminded me of what Eleanor had told us. So what does all that tell you?

Will's condescending attitude miffed me a little, but I realized I needed help so I kept my mouth shut. With patience above and beyond the call, he walked me through the thought process. Bad timing to become snarky.

Raising my hairbrush, I attempted to tame my undisciplined hair before it dried into a frizzy halo.

Okay, let's start with artwork and artifacts. I would go along with the program for now. By that minimal definition, they might be large sculptures and architectural friezes, wall hangings, furniture, paintings, pottery, even jewelry, fabrics, tiny sculptures, coins, and knickknacks. Almost anything.

And which of those might be our smuggled goods?

I hated playing Twenty Questions. After putting the final touches on my hair and giving it a